


With Fronds Like These

by fleete



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleete/pseuds/fleete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’ tentacles were a bit of a sore spot with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Fronds Like These

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laisserais (madame_meretrix)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=laisserais+%28madame_meretrix%29).



> Thanks to C for the feedback and star eyes.

Stiles’ tentacles were a bit of a sore spot with him.

Oh, fine. They’re not tentacles but _arms_ if you wanna get technical about it. They sprout from just under his armpits, and the suckers go all the way up instead of just at the ends. Here, go read about it [[x](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cephalopod_limb)], it’s fascinating. The activist types like to call them “Ts,” but Stiles is not the activist type. He calls them tentacles.

There are many locales the world over where tentacle-bearing humans exist in great in numbers, places where tentacles where as prevalent as hipsters. But this was Beacon Hills, the cradle of American lycanthropy (or so claimed the welcome sign on the edge of town), and after his father, Stiles was the only T in town.

It wasn’t just being a rarity that got to him, though. At the end of the day, Stiles didn’t really mind having extra appendages. They were useful, after all. Scott had once attempted to outlaw the use of tentacles in the playing of video games, but Stiles had reasoned that between Stiles’ extra arms and Scott’s werewolfy reflexes, they were pretty even. No, the extra limbs weren't a problem.

The problem was the way they looked. Stiles’ tentacles weren’t quite the muscular, anaconda-like tentacles that some had. His suckers weren’t very big either, just grippy purple things that ranged from quarter-sized discs to tiny sensitive bumps. The overall effect was embarrassingly delicate: weak, pink tendrils that he wore wrapped around his biceps under his shirtsleeves.

“It’s just unrealistic, is what it is,” Stiles would complain to Scott. “All the people in the T-porn have these massive things as big as my bicep. I once saw a girl with suckers so big she could cover a dick with just one.”

“Gross!”

“Hey! Rude!”

“You’re describing porn to me. _That’s_ rude.”

“Whatever.”

But it wasn’t just porn’s typical exaggeration. Objectively speaking, Stiles’s tentacles were just…kinda small. So he tended to wear layers and sweatshirts and coats.

Yes, even in the summer. It was a problem.

*

That was, until Derek. Derek was all about Stiles’ tentacles.

Stiles met Derek in a really grimy bar two towns over from Beacon Hills. It was grimy enough, in fact, that Stiles had gone into the alleyway, pulled his pants down, and come into the dude’s mouth without ever looking him in the eye.

“Oh!” Stiles said as Derek straightened up, wiping his mouth. “You’re kinda hot.”

“Thanks?” said Derek with an eyebrow lift, but he seemed distracted. He ran his hands up Stiles’ sides. “Will you…will you touch me? With your tentacles?”

Stiles reared back and knocked his head into the wall. “My…how did you know I had—”

“I can smell them,” Derek said, and his eyes flashed briefly.

Oh. Werewolf. Ugh. “I have got to get further away from Beacon Hills.”

Derek made a sound of agreement and nuzzled at Stiles’ face. “So?”

“Um. I don’t know, man. Most people find them pretty unpleasant. Even my buddy Scott, he says they feel like…” Stiles trailed off at this point, because Derek had failed to be dissuaded and instead stripped off his shirt.

“Please.” Derek dragged Stiles forward with a handful of Stiles’ shirt, planting his face in Stiles’s shoulder and rubbing his stupid stubble against Stiles’ neck. It must be some kind of werewolf thing, Stiles thought, all this nuzzling, because it was itchy and burned faintly, but it was also hot as fuck. Stiles shivered and lets his tentacles uncoil down his arms.

“Okay. Okay, uh, how do you want me to—.” Stiles tested the nubbly tip of one tentacle against Derek’s collarbone. Derek groaned aloud.

Alrighty then. It got kind of fuzzy after that, because there was touching and stroking and Derek’s pants coming off and stuff, and Derek was bent over and braced against a dumpster, which was pretty gross--the dumpster, not the man--except for all the nakedness. And the ass. And the lube that Derek had shoved into his hand.

“Water based,” he’d said, and bent over. The bending over might have had something to do with the fuzziness in Stiles' brain.

Stiles’ tentacles weren’t quite strong enough to get in—Derek was clamped down tight, despite everything—so he eventually had to hold him open with his fingers and then compress his Ts in beside.

All four of his arms had goosebumps. Or well, his skin-arms had goosebumps, and his Ts had shivers. It was really hot inside Derek. And tight. Like, okay, his Ts could compress a lot, but Derek was clamping down and then pulsing open intermittently, and it was this weird wave of pressure, like someone squeezing you over and over with a fist. It was…intense. Stiles wsa fully hard just from the squeezing.

“Um. So, is this…?”

“Don’t stop,” Derek said. He was fisting his dick with slow, methodical jerks, eyes fixed on the ground and jaw working determinedly.

Stiles felt a little light-headed over how into it Derek obviously is. He worked a finger and a tentacle even deeper, the lube blending deliciously with the natural slick around Stiles’ suckers.

“Is this—” Stiles felt suddenly unsure, despite himself. “Is this enough? Are you gonna be able to—”

And then, obviously, Derek came, clenching down tight on Stiles’ fingers and tentacles and wrenching a surprised gasp out of him.

They lingered in the alley for ten awkward minutes afterwards. Stiles didn’t really know what to do with his hands or Ts, not when they’d all been up Derek’s ass. He wrapped his Ts back up under his short sleeves and stuck his fingers in his pockets.

“So.” Stiles toed the wheel on the side of the dumpster.

“So.” Derek had put his shirt back on, which was a shame.

“You have sex with a lot of T-people?”

It just slipped out. Stiles immediately wanted the question back.

But Derek didn’t have to think about it: “Nope.” 

“No?”

“Oh.” Stiles considered this. “It just seemed like you were really into tentacles.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow. “I am really into anything you want to put in me.”

“Oh.” Wow, Stiles voice had not gone that high since puberty. He coughed, embarrassed. “Does that mean…I can have your number?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

So maybe it wasn’t the most suave of first encounters. And maybe Stiles would end up telling people that they had met over beers in a well-lit sports bar. The end result was still same.


End file.
